


Fishbowl Effect

by environmental



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Guy Quentin Beck, Kinda, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:30:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19830265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/environmental/pseuds/environmental
Summary: Nothing is ever as it seems. Peter Parker learns this the hard way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cryptic summary aside, enjoy this little...thing of mine. I really enjoyed FFH, and I loved Mysterio's character, there's not nearly enough Good Guy!Mysterio in this world, so I'm looking to change that. Or am I? You, me, and Peter Parker are all about to find out.
> 
> TL;DR *wizards of waiverly place theme* eVERythING IS not whAT it seEMS
> 
> Not beta'd because I plan to die like a man. Thanks for reading!

Peter Parker cannot believe the _nerve_ of some people. 

Really, how much of an asshole do you have to be to break into a teenager’s hotel room and practically  _ kidnap _ him? No, not only kidnap him, but tranquilize his best friend as well? Now, that’s just a low move, isn’t it? And then, after doing all of that and ushering him out of the hotel and onto a speedboat of all things, Nick Fury had the balls to take jabs at him while going through the motions of handing over Tony Stark’s last gift to him. 

(He doesn’t open it. Not now, not in front of Fury.)

All after fighting a crazy water monster, too. Peter is  _ very  _ annoyed, to say the least.

He rolls his shoulders in annoyance as they enter a sewer, the speedboat slipping into the tunnel as discreetly as possible. They continue to mozy down the river until Fury idles the engine, beckons him to get out. Peter clambers over the edge, his annoyance bubbling up in his chest at how the man continued to act so nonchalant about this whole situation. He should be in bed right now, listening to Ned chatter about his day with Betty! He should be figuring out a way to get his plan for MJ into action, conspiring in a non-creepy way with his best friend over treats they got from the motel’s gift store earlier that day. Instead, he’s here - walking side by side with the aforementioned dick. 

They walk for a long time, or maybe it just  _ seems _ like a long time - Peter has never been good at staying quiet, but he refuses to speak, holding his tongue in a poor man’s version of disobedience. The quiet only makes time drag, though, and his feet grow weary, his anger smolders down to mere embers. Nick Fury can’t hear his thoughts, but he surely can read his body language. He breaks the silence, damp footsteps still echoing throughout the cavernous entrance. “Don’t look so upset, Parker. I didn’t drag you out here for no good reason.” 

“You still dragged me out here,” Peter mutters, and Fury graciously pretends he didn’t hear him as they approach an opening on the left side of the tunnel. 

They turn into it, and Peter is taken aback by the startling mixture of high-tech gear and dingy, moldy walls of a rundown sewer. Despite the dreary, damp housing, desks are placed neatly around the space that’s available to them, computers and other machines on top of them and mounted on walls. He wonders how on  _ Earth _ they got all of this set up in such little time, or if it’s been here all along? 

Fury strides ahead of him, “Take that mask off. You don’t need to hide your identity here.” Peter complies, following close behind as the man goes deeper into the compound. They pass by a few people, many of whom don’t bother to look up from whatever they’re working on. Eventually, after a bit more walking, they approach a woman glad in all black, her hair tied back into a tight bun. “This is Agent Maria Hill,” Fury explains, and the woman reaches out to shake Peter’s already outstretched hand. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he greets, trying to smile. She nods, though her face remains set in stone, and it intimidates him to no end. She withdrawals her hand and he is immediately thankful that he’s wearing his suit - there’s absolutely no chance that his palms were sweaty. 

Peter turns again, his smile falling immediately from his face. If he listened close enough, he could hear it hit the ground and shatter around his feet. Someone else is here in the room, clad in the same get-up as that guy from the canal - Mysterio, the kids in his class had called him. He’s facing away from Peter, not too far from where Agent Hill had been moments ago, leaning over a tablet that glows with thermal readings. He can’t help himself, his jaw drops and the word comes spilling from his lips before he can even begin to think about how to handle the situation before him. “Mysterio?”

The name causes the man to jerk around, his gaze meeting Peter’s almost immediately. Almost like he’d known he was there the entire time. But still, there’s confusion on his face. 

Peter bites his lip. “Sorry. That’s just what they’re calling you on the news.” That does very little to fix the confused look on the man’s face, and he can feel his own face start to grow hot beneath everyone’s gaze. “Who -?”

Fury cuts him off before he can continue, and suddenly he is very grateful for his presence. “That is Quentin Beck,” he supplies easily, “And he’s here to help.”

“Help?” Peter wrinkles his nose slightly, tearing his eyes away from the caped hero in front of him. He had seen Mysterio defeat that water monster himself. Despite the inkling he had, he continues to press the subject, hoping to be proven wrong. “Help with what?” 

Beck clears his throat, suddenly very near. “Well, to put it simply, your world is in danger.”

* * *

It’s nearing two in the morning, and to be frank, Peter isn’t having much of a good time at all. 

_ Just do what you’re told _ , Maria Hill had told him curtly when he asked when he’d be able to leave, and her mouth barely moved as she spoke. 

So he  _ did _ what he was told - Peter Parker sat in the uncomfortable chair he had been told to sit in and he listened quietly, obediently, to all of Nick Fury’s insistent and carefully planned words. He listened to his explanation for that water monster, listened to him explain the multiverse in very plain words (Peter would have piped up, seeking a more detailed explanation, if it were not for the looks he was given whenever he tried to interrupt). He nodded at the end of every sentence, repeated things back when asked, and tried not to make  _ too _ much eye contact with the hero sitting across from him. Perhaps the worst part of this arrangement has been the fact that he isn’t allowed to  _ talk _ , which meant he hasn’t gotten the opportunity to poke and prod and badger the  _ mysterious _ Mysterio, who sits politely with his arms folded over his chest. 

There were questions Peter wanted answered, about the multiverse and the fishbowl he apparently liked to wear during battles. But as his eyes glance down at the digital watch on his wrist, bright blue numbers reading 2:57 AM, he knows he won’t have the opportunity.

At least, not tonight. He’ll have plenty of chances to pester the man, if Fury’s words are anything to go by (and Peter knows better than to doubt the director of SHIELD’s words). When the meeting is finally called to an end, he rises from his stiff position and stretches the knots out of his limbs. Then, as if to simply rub salt into Peter’s already irritated mood, Fury has the nerve to ask him if he’s “on board.”

“Of course I am!” He scoffs, gripping his mask tightly in a fisted grip.

Mysterio approaches him, a hand finding his shoulder. “Then I look forward to working with you, Spider-Man.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but he blinks once and realizes that the man is already across the room, closing the door quietly behind him. His confusion is met with a bemused chuckle from Nick Fury, who leans against a desk and answers one of the  _ many _ silent questions Peter has been bouncing off the walls of the room ever since he arrived. “You weren’t my first choice, but you were Stark’s. But that one,” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, presumably toward Mysterio. He clicks his tongue, shakes his head, and Peter doesn’t need him to continue to understand. 

“You don’t trust him?” 

The man taps his eyepatch once, then twice, his hawkish gaze never leaving Peter’s. “I don’t trust  _ anybody _ .”

He swallows thickly, nodding at nothing in particular. After working out a few minute details (like what he was going to wear! Spider-Man can’t really be in Europe the same time Peter Parker is, can he?), Fury sends him home, telling him that he’d be hearing from “them” soon enough. The sound of fingernails tapping against crisp leather echoes in his eardrums and follows him all the way back to the motel. He clambers in through the window, shutting it behind him with a sharp slam that nearly rouses Ned from his nightly coma, and only then does the sound stop assaulting him. He strips himself of his suit, shoves it and the box Tony left him into his backpack, and crawls into bed. 

  
  


* * *

Sleep comes, swift and silent, settling on his bones like a weighted blanket. But as soon as it arrives, it’s ripped away - quite literally, as Ned yanks his blanket off of his body and says something along the lines of, “Wake up, let’s go get some breakfast, Mr. Harrington sent me to get you.” 

He rises, groggy and with a weird taste lingering in his mouth. It takes him until he’s already brushing his teeth to realize the taste is coppery, and he doesn’t realize it’s blood until he spits into the sink.  _ Gross _ , he thinks to himself. He takes some time to appreciate the impressively red blob of suds that stain the porcelain, but quickly rinses it down when he hears Ned opening the door. 

“Hey,” he says around a mouthful of residual suds, trying to put some pep into his voice. Ned is staring at him with a Look on his face, one that just screams  _ I’m worried about you _ ! “You doing okay?”

His friends expression somewhat clears up, and he nods. “Yup. Slept like a baby, but what else is new?” They both laugh at that, and Ned goes on, “How’d it go last night?”

“It went fine,” Peter only partially lies, trying  _ very _ hard not to let his voice rise in pitch. It hadn’t gone  _ badly _ . “Just got lectured a bit, and - oh!” He blinks owlishly at his reflection before turning to face the other boy, a sudden wave of giddiness washing over him as he remembers meeting the gold-and-red clad superhero. “Guess who I met last night?”

“Who?”

“Mysterio!”

Ned’s jaw drops. “No way!” He waits a beat, watches as Peter nods his head ferociously in response, setting his toothbrush on the sink. “Dude! That’s amazing. Is that what Mr. Fury came to get you for?”

“Kinda,” Peter says, moving to sit on his bed. Ned follows suit, taking a spot to his left. The worried look returns, but much more muted this time around. There’s a lot more eagerness mixed in. He takes a deep breath, and dives into explaining what Fury briefed him on last night, though a lot of it is paraphrased to hell and back. He doesn’t mention the gift, for example. He doesn’t know exactly why, but his mouth refuses to make the words he needs to tell his best friend, and so he just keeps it to himself for the time being. He talks about Mysterio instead, and how “yeah, it  _ was _ really cool to meet him,” (he also, conveniently, forgets to mention the fact that he had very little time to get to  _ know  _ the man, but that’s not very important, anyway) and mentioning the multiverse. Ned is really impressed by that last bit, and they take the time to talk about it more in depth together, bouncing around and chattering as they clean the room. 

Eventually, they finish clearing up and start making their way downstairs, and they tire of talking science. The conversation drifts to more mundane topics, like Betty and breakfast and how crazy it is that Nick Fury, of all people, is hijacking their school trip. Breakfast is spent half eating, half gazing longingly across the table at MJ. She’s reading a book while eating around a piece of toast, and Peter can’t help but think of her as the most beautiful girl in the world. He almost gets up when the girl sitting next to her leaves, but the idea instantly withers when Brad suddenly shows up and slips into the spot he so badly wanted to occupy.

Ned is preoccupied with Betty, and they’re being annoyingly cute in the seats next to him. Peter decides to make the best out of a slightly disadvantageous situation and heads upstairs to finally satiate the curiosity that has begun to plague his brain. He locks the door behind him and rummages through his bag with little to no patience, his hands finding the small box easily. There’s very little else to do besides rip open the thin layer of wrapping paper and open the box, but Peter sits on the floor, his bag and half of it’s contents scattered around him as he cradles the small package in his lap.

This is it. The last gift he will ever receive from Tony-freaking-Stark.

After a few more moments of hesitation, he finally bites the bullet and makes the first tear into the paper. The sound makes him cringe, his whole body reacting to it in a way he hadn’t been expecting. The sight of plain cardboard almost makes him choke up, and he has to wait a moment before removing the wrapping entirely. He folds all of it into a neat little squares and puts them to the side, gingerly tapping the pile before returning his attention to the unopened box in front of him. With steady hands, he opens it and is surprised to find seemingly-normal glasses resting inside of the velvet-lined box.

Of course, no piece of apparel from Stark Enterprises could ever be _normal_ , could it? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo, another chapter! Enjoy!

As it turns out, the glasses Tony Stark left for his young apprentice were _not_ normal at all. 

In fact, the A.I. seemed a bit taken aback by his assumption, going so far as to scoff (or, at least, make a noise that was eerily similar to a scoff). EDITH was a bit more robotic than KAREN, her voice mechanical in all the ways that made Peter uncomfortable, but she was not unkind; she explained her purpose and her basic functions to him slowly and thoroughly, making sure there was no room left for uncertainty by the end of her lecture. When asked what her name stood for, she replied smoothly, “Even in Death, I’m The Hero.” She even cracked a joke that was funny enough to coax a laugh out of Peter, who was beginning to choke up again. 

“This is great,” he tells the A.I., though he really wishes he could be telling Tony instead. “Thanks, EDITH.” He’s simply simmering in his emotions when he hears a knock on his door. “Oh, I’ll chat with you later. Gotta go.”

He takes the glasses off and puts them back in their case gingerly, afraid to mar the last piece of Stark technology he’ll ever be gifted by the man himself. He stares at them for a few moments more before being interrupted by the knocking again, and he quickly shoves the box into his bag along with his crumpled up suit and other belongings before going to the door. He swings it open, expecting to see Ned hand-in-hand with Betty, resigned and prepared to head out for a day of third wheeling. But when he lifts his gaze from his shoes, he meets the brown eyes of MJ instead. 

She’s still gripping the book she had been reading at breakfast tight in her arms, her lips pulled into a tight smile at the sight of him. Peter can’t help but let his jaw hang open as he stares at her, struggling to form words. Luckily, he doesn’t need to. “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to do something today. We have a few hours of free time, and everyone else is planning to go boating or - whatever it is they’re doing. But everything from yesterday considered, I don’t really feel like getting into another boat.”

“Oh, yeah, totally!” Peter stammers, leaning awkwardly against the doorframe. It’s hard to find a comfortable standing position when she’s there, watching him with her hard gaze. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Well, I wanted to go to the da Vinci museum, but its not even open in November, so I was thinking maybe we could visit a couple landmarks and -” She stops abruptly, her head tilting slightly. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Peter stops, focusing for a moment to pinpoint what she must’ve been hearing. He groans slightly, turning away from her before running a hand over his face. It’s his ringtone, coming from somewhere inside of the room. He makes the decision to ignore it, rationalizing that if it’s something urgent, they’d leave a voicemail or call back later. He turns back to MJ, “It’s probably not important. Which landmarks did you want do go see?”

She cocks her head at him curiously, but she continues speaking after a few moments. All is going well, and Peter is hanging off of her every word - until the ringtone goes off again, and this time he simply shakes his head, signalling for her to ignore it again. MJ keeps talking, though she seems hesitant. The tone runs its course, and dies down for a second time. 

When his phone starts up for a _third_ time, she stands on the tips of her toes to peer over his shoulder. “Are you _sure_ you don’t need to get that?”

Peter chews his lip, bouncing his leg for a few moments before _finally_ relenting. “I probably should,” he says, mouth twisting into an apologetic frown. “I’ll be down in a minute though, okay?”

“Okay,” MJ says, though she’s still looking at him suspiciously. He closes the door on her after giving her a little wave, and then dives across the bed to reach his phone on the very last trill. 

The voice on the other end of the line is silent for a moment, so silent that Peter pulls the phone from his ear just to make sure he hadn’t missed the call entirely. Then, the rough voice of Nick Fury meet his ears, like nails on a chalkboard “I thought we’d already agreed you’d stop ignoring my calls, Parker.”

Peter cringes, “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose, I was just dealing with some stuff. School stuff, you know?”

“I don’t need to hear excuses. I need you to listen up, and listen good, because I’m only going to able to say this once. Got it, kiddo?” Peter is taken aback by the nickname - he’s never heard anything so… _familiar_ come out of the man’s mouth before. Fury doesn’t bother to wait for a response, or give him the opportunity to point out his odd mannerisms, he simply launches into his explanation. They were going to Prague, following the energy sources left behind by an elemental - something about it being a _dangerous_ one, but aren’t they _all_ dangerous? He said they had a plan to deal with it, though, so that helped to put his nerves at ease. There is one other pressing matter, though, and Peter tries to cut in, but is immediately drowned out by Fury addressing the question he hadn’t even begun to articulate, his voice gentle. “Don’t sweat it, kid, I’m taking care of your travel arrangements. Just do what you usually do, Peter. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, the call is disconnected, and Peter is left with the uncomfortable feeling that Fury was acting _off_ . His mind drifts back to what the man had said last night, that awful tapping resurfacing in his mind. But there was no way anyone else would be privy to such sensitive information, right? Maybe he was just having an off day, maybe he just felt like being _kinder_ for once. He sits on the edge of the bed, pondering the likelihood of that for a few moments before remembering what he’d been doing before Fury had called. MJ was probably downstairs waiting for him, a thought that made all of his internal organs flutter like insects to a lamp. He decides that whatever is going on with Fury really isn’t important, stands up, pockets his phone, and snatches up his bag before leaving the room. 

Just in case. 

  


* * *

Peter spends the day with MJ. 

They rented bikes for the both of them and rode around Venice all morning, simply sightseeing, doing _normal_ tourist stuff. He bought them both paninis that they ate while perched on top of giant oak barrels, and MJ rattled on about facts she’d read both in her book and on some travel site she’d browsed the night before, and Peter listened to her and tried to keep chewing a mouthful of candy at all times to keep himself from saying something stupid. Not that that truly stopped him - but MJ didn’t seem to mind his stupid jokes, even going so far as to encourage it. He finds himself wondering when he had convinced himself that she _didn’t_ like his dumb quips, and after racking his brain all throughout lunch, he can’t seem to pinpoint any exact moment. 

After lunch, the class went to a museum that _hadn’t_ been damaged when the water monster attacked the city and the two of them decided to walk through the quiet halls together (much to Peter’s glee, and Brad Davis’ dismay), their hands inches apart as they dangled at the sides of their respective owners. Peter wishes he had the courage to reach over and take her hand in his own, but he supposes he used it all up yesterday, because the muscles in his arms cement beneath his skin whenever he so much as thinks about it. 

Overall, though, he handled the proximity better than he could have ever hoped to. If you had told him a year ago ( _six years ago_ , a wicked voice whispers in his ear, sending shivers down his spine) that he would be head over heels over MJ, of all people, and that he would still manage to be so close to her - he wouldn’t believe you, for one. He can barely believe it now, sitting at the dinner table next to Ned, who’s chattering on about his day with his girlfriend and how much fun he had, and how he wished Peter had been there with them, but that it’s good that he got to spend time with MJ. But Peter is barely listening, still daydreaming about his time in the museum, except this time he _does_ reach over and grasp her hand, and this time she holds it tightly within her own, their eyes never leaving the paintings rigged to the wall. It takes all of his effort to drag himself out of that head space and focus on his friend, who’s now waving a hand in front of his face, his mouth making conspicuous, “Earth to Peter,” noises. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down and realizing his pasta fell off of his fork in the time he had spent gazing off into space. “What were you saying?”

Ned bristles, offended that he hadn’t been listening despite having been the one to _catch_ him in the act of it. “I _said_ , I overheard - well, _I_ didn’t myself, but Betty’s friend Joanie said she heard Mr. Harrington on the phone with the travel agency or something, and it turns out that we’re getting ‘upgraded’, whatever _that_ means.”

“What?” Peter leans in closer. He tried to avoid thinking about his Spider-Man responsibilities while out with MJ today, and mostly succeeded. But he’s not with her right now, and his ears perk up curiously. “Like, we’re leaving Venice?”

“Yeah. We’re going to a better hotel, ’cause he complained about the conditions of this one, or something.” He shrugs, looking around the large, orange-bathed room. “I don’t think it’s _that_ bad, but hey - I’m not complaining.”

“Did she hear where we’re going?”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember the name of the place…”

Peter sucks his teeth for a moment, setting his fork down on the table. “Was it Prague?”

“You know, I think it was. Why?” Ned cocks his head to the side at the stupid smirk that begins to play out on Peter’s face, a questioning expression taking over his features. Peter takes this as an opportunity to fill him in on the happenings of SHIELD, and passes on what Fury had told him over the phone this morning. He glosses over the bit about Fury acting _weird_ , it’s not like he knows the man well enough to decide what behavior really constitutes as out of the ordinary anyway, right? So instead he sits back and watches as the expression on his friends face morphs into one of shock, and his jaw hangs open as he harshly whispers, “Holy _crap_ , dude! Nick Fury _really is_ hijacking our trip!”

They chatter between themselves for a while as they finish their food, quips about SHIELD peppered in among casual topics like which flavors of gelato they thought were best, or what souvenirs they’d be bringing home to their families. Ned apparently bought a gondolier hat for not only himself, but his mother _and_ his dog, as well. Peter had gathered some pretty, handsewn lace for May, and they both were stocking up on _snacks_ to bring back. Soon after, they head up to their room. The two of them go through their nightly routine, with the added task of re-packing their suitcases in preparation for the trip to Prague. Once they’re done and Ned begins to settle down to sleep, Peter perches on the edge of his bed and checks his phone. 

There aren’t any missed calls (thank _God_ ), just a few texts from May. He responds to them with as much love as he can muster through a text, hits send, and turns the ringer up to its maximum volume. He’s usually a light sleeper, but he does this just to be safe… He doesn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he let Fury go to voicemail _three_ times in a row, and he sure as _hell_ doesn’t want to find out. He sets the phone on his nightstand and burrows into his bed for the night. 

  


* * *

Peter dreams that he’s back on Titan, except this time he isn’t “blipped” away - he watches as everyone else disintegrates and turns to Tony Stark, expecting to be swept away next. But it doesn’t happen, and he stands ankle deep in red sand, trembling in anxiety and anticipation, until he’s woken up by a hand shaking his shoulder. When his eyes finally snap open, he’s face to face with Ned, who’s got that look on his face again. Peter simply shrugs away, kicking to get the thin blanket he’d been sleeping with off of his sweat drenched body. 

Ned opens his mouth to ask him something, but Peter cuts him off before the words can make it out. He already knows what he’s going to ask, anyway. “Bad dream,” he supplies, and his friend nods in understanding. They’re quiet after that, going about their respective routines in deafening silence that Peter, for once, doesn’t mind. It gives him the opportunity to sort himself out before they have to go down for breakfast, and he manages to smooth out any residual wrinkles left in his brow after taking the time to collect himself in the shower. 

Mr. Harrington takes the time to announce the travel upgrade to Prague during their meal, to almost no one’s surprise. As soon as they were done eating, the students practically rushed onto the bus - one that was being driven by a SHIELD agent, Peter noticed as he boarded - and then they were off. The whole process was a lot quicker than he had imagined it to be, everyone was ushered neatly into their seats, their luggage packed into the boot of the bus by inconspicuous men dressed in all black. The only downside of the morning was that MJ ended up sitting on the opposite end of the bus as him, as Peter picked to sit at the very back of the bus, and Ned decided to sit next to Betty somewhere in the rows ahead of him. He was slightly bummed out, but he decided to make the best of it by bringing out EDITH. 

He hadn’t had much time to play around with her features yesterday, and so he decides to put her to good use during this road trip. At least, that’s what he _planned_ to do, but all he really does is play solitaire and daydream the whole time. It’s all he can do to keep himself from thinking back to last nights dream - and all of EDITH’s other features, in one way or another, just serve to remind him of Tony and that… just isn’t a road he’s ready to go down just yet. Not now, maybe not ever, he muses to himself, taking off the glasses before leaning his forehead against the window. He grips them tightly in his hand, trying to focus instead on the scenery that’s flashing by. 

* * *

  


They arrive in Prague, and Peter is exhausted.

MJ waits for him after getting off of the bus. She has his suitcase with her, a smile on her face, and asks if he wants to walk up to the hotel with her. He fumbles with his own words, stammering out a weak, “yes,” before taking his luggage. It doesn’t matter to him that the _whole_ class would be walking up together, all he can think about is the fact that she _waited_ for him, even went through the trouble of snagging his bag before he got off of the bus. His heart flutters in his chest, and it has everything to do with the way her hand brushes against his as they trudge up the stone steps, toward the pristine hotel Fury surely booked for them. They go their separate ways when it’s time to settle into their respective rooms. 

Ned automatically meets up with him in the lobby, dangling keys about his fingers. They lug their suitcases to their room; his phone goes off the moment the door closes behind them, and he groans at the big, white letters that read: _No Caller ID_. Ned looks back at him, an eyebrow quirked in question. Peter holds the phone up for him to see, and he wastes no time in telling him to, “Hurry up and answer, dude!”

That’s exactly what he does. “Hello?”

“Parker,” Nick Fury is gruff on the other end of the line. “We need you here. Finish up whatever you’re doing and suit up.” The line clicks off before he has time to add anything to the conversation, if it could even be called that. Peter notes the shift in mannerisms, how formal he is now compared to yesterday’s phone call. 

He folds his arms across his chest as Ned hovers around him, buzzing with nervous energy. “So?” He asks expectantly, eyes wide. 

“I’ve got to go,” Peter explains hesitantly, “Spider-Man stuff. Will you cover for me?”

It’s not even a question at this point, but he asks anyway. Ned swears enthusiastically that he’ll do everything in his power to keep people from discovering his absence, and Peter thanks him, grabbing his backpack before slipping into the bathroom to change. He makes sure to thank his best friend again before he slips out the window, his masked face showing little to no emotion; he can only hope that his voice conveys just how genuinely he means it. Ned just shoos him, claiming that the locals will see him if he just hangs off the edge of the building for too long. He’s probably right. 

With one last wave, Spider-Man kicks off the wall with as much force as he can muster, shooting a web to catch his weight as he falls back, into the open air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated! I hope you guys've enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be back again with another soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so, this is where things get spicy. I hope you guys enjoy!

It’s nice to be out and about again, and he will admit that it feels good to have the wind in his ears as he makes his way to the rendezvous point. He can see SHIELD agents waiting for him, their faces pulled into tight frowns as they observe his bright red-and-blue costume - they don’t say anything about it though, they don’t say anything _at all_ . The moment he touches down on the ground they turn and begin walking, one of them jerks their head for him to follow. He’s led into an older building (though, if you asked him, he would tell you that _all_ the buildings here looked old) and down some stairs that lead into a basement where Nick Fury is waiting, hunched over a table covered in maps of the city. Agent Hill is standing on his right, her gaze hard. Mysterio is nowhere to be seen, and a twang of disappointment sounds in Peter’s chest at that realization. 

“Nice of you to make an appearance,” the one eyed man says, straightening up slightly. “I’m surprised you even knew where to go, considering you ignored my calls the other day. I thought we came to an understanding, Parker?”

Peter takes his mask off, his hair mussed up. “What? I told you, I was busy with -”

Fury cuts him off, voice sharp with impatience. “I don’t care _what_ you were doing! When I call, you answer.”

Confusion takes over his features, and Peter opens his mouth to protest. “But I _did_ -” He stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He shakes it off and turns to see Mysterio standing behind him, his fishbowl helmet nowhere in sight, the door still just as shut as it had been moments ago. “When did you get here?” 

“I’ve been here the whole time,” the man replies, and Peter wrinkles his nose. Had he really? How could he not have seen him? He opens his mouth to ask, but Beck is already addressing Fury. “Cut the kid a break. He’s supposed to be on _vacation_ , you know.”

“If he wants to go prance around with his friends, he can.” Fury doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone still makes shivers run down Peter’s spine when he turns to address him. Somehow, he’s scarier this way. “But don’t _waste_ my time if you don’t want to be here.”

Peter whips back around, raising his hands in defense despite the fact that nobody has made a single threatening move toward him. “I never said I don’t want to be here! I want to help, Mr. Fury, I do!”

“Then start acting like it!” He slams his hand down on the table, just once, but it’s enough to make the blood in Peter’s veins boil. He grits his teeth and hangs his head, and this time when Beck put his hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t shrug it off. Fury stares at him for a few more heated moments, his gaze burning holes into Peter’s skin. And then, as quickly as the anger had come, it’s gone - annoyance fills the empty space it leaves, and after a few pregnant moments of silence the man clears his throat. “If you’re _ready_ , there’s some things we have to go over.”

Beck gives his shoulder a squeeze and then nudges him slightly. He gets the hint and strides across the room, mechanically pulling a chair out from the table Fury is standing over. He lets the metal legs drag, the screeching noise filling the entire room for a few solid seconds before he sits down, pointedly staring at one of the maps laid out on the table, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else in the room. He watches from the corner of his eye as Beck takes the seat across from him, turning the chair around so that he can rest his folded arms on top of its back. 

Once the two superheroes seem to have settled into their chairs, Fury begins to speak again. He begins by introducing the fire elemental, the most dangerous of the four. A hologram of the grisly monster pops up from a little mechanical device stationed at the center of the table, and the man goes on to discuss possible plans of attack. Peter is only half-listening to what he’s being told, because right now all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. How much more of an _asshole_ can Fury be? Sure, he answered the man’s calls a bit later than he should have, but is that really fair grounds to accuse him of not wanting to help innocent people? The mere suggestion is enough to make Peter - no, to make _Spider-Man_ bristle.

And it’s not only that, but to talk down to him like - like he’s just some _kid_ , in front of another superhero, someone who he is expected to fight side by side with - heat rushes to his cheeks, and he tucks his hands into his armpits to keep from digging his nails into his thighs. He sneaks a glance at Beck, who is currently spinning the hologram around to point something out to Fury, and as he slumps into his seat he begins to wonder what the man must think of him now. He’s so caught up in his own smoldering anger that when he finally _does_ decide to tune in to the conversation, they’re already going over positioning. 

Apparently, Spider-Man is to be the bait of the operation. His responsibility is to lure it away from civilians and the main city, to try and get it to a place where Mysterio can blast it to pieces with his crazy green laser powers - Peter is itching to ask about how those _work_ \- and since they don’t know exactly _when_ the monster will be attacking, he is to be on full alert all throughout the night until it makes an appearance. 

Peter interrupts. “Wait - how am I supposed to be on patrol all night? My class will notice if I’m gone that long.”

Fury looks at him, straightfaced. “You’re not going to _be_ gone, Parker. You’ll stay with your classmates until we give you the signal to move out. Just keep your phone _on_ , for God’s sake.” Cheeks flushing red, Peter slumps even further into his seat, embarrassment flourishing in his chest. Fury goes on to reiterate that everyone should remain vigilant, that the monster could show up at _any_ moment, and it’s their responsibility to kill it. 

It’s a pretty shitty pep talk, but Peter certainly isn’t about to tell him that. After the meeting is adjourned, Fury tells him to hang back after everyone else begins to leave. Beck lingers in the doorway for a few moments, messing with an embellishment on his cape, but he eventually leaves, closing the door behind him. Once alone, the two of them don’t speak. Peter keeps his eyes fixed on the table while Fury grabs a paper bag from beneath it, tossing it onto the space between them. 

“What’s this?”

“A gift,” Fury tells him simply, still standing. “Open it.” A moment passes before he follows through with the order, his hands hesitant to comply. Inside the paper bag is a solid black suit, the material rough to the touch. He lifts his eyes and meet eyes with the man in front of him, understanding making his shoulders go slack. Fury raises a single brow, “You’re the one who said Spider-Man couldn’t be seen in Europe.”

Peter swallows thickly, retracting his hand from the bag smoothly before crumpling the top of it up into a makeshift handle. “Thanks,” he says quietly, voice embarrassingly low. Fury kicks him out after that, telling him to get some rest, that he’s going to need it if they’re going to have a chance at defeating the elemental that is surely clambering toward them at this very moment. Peter knows he _should_ go back to the hotel - Ned was likely waiting up for him, and he was stiff and tired from having sat in a bus all day. A night’s rest would do him some good. 

But the moment he exists the building he finds himself to be overwhelmed by the thought of being indoors, his chest minisculely tighter than it had been before. A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s 10:43 PM. It’s late, but not so much that Ned would be worrying. He can afford to go swinging around a bit more, he assures himself, shooting a web that sticks to the wall of a nearby building. 

  


* * *

  


Peter spends a good amount of time swinging around the back streets of Prague, enough time, at least, to clear his head of any residual feelings of inadequacy that always seem to spring up after a meeting with SHIELD. He eventually settles onto a fire escape on the side of the hotel he’s staying at, the muscles in his arms aching in such a familiar way, his fingers still curled in the position they’d been in for about an hour despite the fact that he’s no longer gripping the bag Fury gave him. He has one knee drawn up to his chest, the other dangling over the metal edge of the landing. It’s quiet out, and he realizes just how far from home he really is. 

Queens could never be this quiet. 

It occurs to him that he might be the slightest bit homesick, and he snorts softly to himself. He hasn’t been gone even a week, and he’s already missing the hustle and bustle of his city life - it makes him think back to the time he was flown out to Germany to fight against Captain America. He hadn’t been gone long then, either, but he had found himself extremely relieved to go home despite how hyped up he had been for the whole experience. He stares down at one red foot, swinging lazily through the air. 

Tony Stark had told him he would love it there. He also apparently told anyone who would listen that Peter Parker could be the next Iron Man. If he wasn’t so sad right now, he would laugh - it’s funny, to him, how the man could be such a genius, and still manage to be so wrong. 

All the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, and Peter’s head snaps up to find that he’s face to face with, well, _himself_. He stares at his reflection, face slightly warped by the wrapped glass of Mysterio’s helmet. He blinks, and his own owlish eyes blink back at him before Mysterio waves it away with his hand, it’s milky surface dissolving into the crisp night air to reveal Beck’s gruff face. “Hey, kiddo.”

Another blink. When he opens his eyes again, Beck is sitting to his left, legs hanging off of the edge with hands clasped in his lap. Peter glares, trying his best to refrain from flinching at the sudden physical closeness. “How do you _do_ that?

Beck shrugs, adjusting his position so that he’s partially facing him. “I’m afraid I don’t really know the logistics of it all.” Peter doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t push the question any further. Beck is quiet for a few moments, presumably waiting for him to say something. But when the boy doesn’t, he continues, his tone oddly careful. “I thought Fury sent you back to the hotel.”

Peter doesn’t remember when the man could have possibly overheard that, but responds anyway. “I _am_ at the hotel.”

“You know what I meant.” 

A long pause ensues, and Beck’s mouth twists unpleasantly. “You know, if I had a say in things, you wouldn’t be anywhere near here right now.” 

“It’s a good thing you’re not calling the shots, then,” Peter doesn’t skip a single beat, sitting up with a quickness. He lets his other leg join its twin in dangling off the edge. “There’s no way I’d sit back and let other people do the fighting, not when I know there’s something I could be doing to help!”

Beck smiles at him sadly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I know, I know.” He sighs in a way that makes all the defensiveness deflate from Peter’s frame at once. “You’re a good kid, Pete. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time.” He looks down again, and he almost swears can see red sand and dark ash mingling in the air beneath his feet. He thinks back to the day he fought the Falcon on the ferry, when Tony had taken away his suit. _And if you die, I feel like that’s on me_. After a moment, he raises his head and meets the man’s gaze steadily. “I know what I’m doing.”

Silence engulfs them, and they stay like that for what seems like a very long time. It isn’t until Peter’s watch beeps, alerting him to the fact that it’s midnight, that Beck begins to stretch his arms, muttering something about it being late. He stands, and Peter follows suit, snatching up the paper bag next to him. The hero tells him, “ _goodbye, get some rest, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow._ ” All things he doesn’t have to say, but says anyway. Peter begins to climb into his room through the window that Ned left unlocked for him, and pauses to look back at the man. 

The fishbowl helmet is back, milky surface swirling in a way that’s almost nice to look at. Mysterio raises a single hand to him, and is gone within the blink of an eye. 

  


* * *

Peter had been consistently checking his phone all day, refusing to let it out of his sight since the moment he rose in the morning. The anxiety of his situation finally caught up to him over lunch, worry over his classmates safety making him sick to his stomach. Ned seemed to understand, and tried to draw most of the attention away from him as he retreated to his room for the afternoon. MJ came by a few times, knocking softly against the solid wood door to see if he was feeling any better. Her presence just made things worse, and he spent a good majority of his time upstairs hunched over his phone, waiting for it to ring. 

Only - it doesn’t. 

There’s a knock on the door instead, and it’s Mr. Harrington, explaining that the class would be going to the opera in the evening. Through the door, he told him that Ned had “passes along his symptoms” for him (thank _God_ for his best friend), and if he still wasn’t feeling well by the time it was time to go, then he could stay. Peter feels relief swell up inside of his chest, a sudden release of tension spreading throughout his entire body. The opera house was well away from the center of the city, where the elemental was suspected to show up. 

He thanks his teacher, and tells him that he plans to just sleep off whatever “ _bug_ ” he’s caught. He listens to the footsteps fade behind the door fade away, and then sits back down on the edge of his bed. He’d lay down, but he’s wearing his new suit beneath his day clothes. It fits well, but the material its made out of is tough, and it makes it uncomfortable to lay in. He’s been wearing it since this morning, and though it did little to soothe his nerves, he took comfort in the fact that he would be _ready_ when the monster did decide to show up. 

He spends a few more hours idle, his anxiety dying down to a mere simmer in his stomach. Everyone has already left the hotel, safely tucked away into the little nook of the city that Peter was certain will be safe. He briefly considers taking out EDITH to entertain himself, but he never gets the chance - his phone goes off and he shoots a web across the room to get it in his urgency, answering it without a moment’s hesitation. “Hello?”

“Parker.” The rough voice of Nick Fury greets him over the line, and Peter’s hands tremble as he scrambles to look for his mask. He _just_ had it! “Head out, it's getting close.”

Snatching up his newly found mask, he nods into the receiver and hangs up. He doesn’t bother to fret over the fact that Fury couldn’t see his silent affirmation, tossing his phone on the bed before forcing the last piece of his suit onto his head. He glances over the room once, and then makes his way toward the window. It opens easily, and he crawls out. 

  


* * *

Prague is quiet, until it isn’t. 

One moment, Peter is patrolling the streets in his new getup, sailing smoothly over the city with a lightness to his movements and the next a bright light is coming from the middle of a street in the center of the city, exactly where SHIELD’s machines had detected it would. He changes his route immediately, hurrying his pace as another explosion rocks the city’s foundation. He can see the glowing green trail left behind by Mysterio, who’s racing over just as quickly. 

They both meet up on a nearby building, Mysterio waving his helmet away with an impatient air about him. “Okay, Pete. Now’s the time…” 

He continues speaking, but Peter isn’t listening. He’s looking past the man, toward the source of the explosion; a grotesque shape is rising from the ground, molten goop squeezing through the cracks in the asphalt. He can’t help the feeling of morbid curiosity that overtakes him as he rips off his mask and stands on the tips of his toes to try and get a better look - but Mysterio side steps, blocking his view entirely. 

“Hey,” he says, a hand finding and resting against the side of the boy’s face. Peter begins to pull away, not understanding the man’s sudden action, until he catches sight of himself in the armor in front of him. His eyes are wide, his hair disheveled. He certainly _looks_ like someone on the verge of panic. “We’ll be okay. Just stick to the plan.” Peter nods, withdrawing from the man. He puts his mask back on and they both turn to face the threat. 

Spider-Man runs toward the edge of the building, launching himself at the last moment, his webbing catching the edge of another building as he swings himself closer to the monster. He stops when he’s near enough to get its attention, waving his arms about in a ridiculous manner. “Hey, lavagirl! Over here!” It looks in his direction, and immediately hurls a chunk of flaming rock at him. 

He dodges it easily, slinging himself away. Mysterio is behind it now, and he blasts it with a green beam, causing it to shriek out in apparent pain. Spider-Man whoops excitedly, catching its attention once more, shooting web after web, swinging from building to building. It follows him, only ever wavering from that goal to fling bits of rock or spit columns of fire at Mysterio, who is unfazed. It isn’t until he’s swung himself into a corner does Spider-Man send a web toward the elemental, kicking off of the wall with all his might. The webbing hits it’s target and -

God, he really should have listened when Fury was going over plans of _attack_. His webbing melts as soon as it catches hold of the elemental’s shoulder, and before he knows it, Spider-Man is free falling through the air with nothing around to catch himself on. He hits the ground, all the air knocked out of his lungs, but there’s no time to rest - he rolls away just as a flurry of fire comes raining down on him. Spider-Man struggles to find his footing among all of the debris, tripping and stumbling as he tries to dodge the hail storm of rock and flame threatening to swallow him whole. Luckily, Mysterio caught sight of his unfortunate fall, and starts to attack the monster with more vigor, if that’s at all possible. 

The elemental turns to face him instead, giving Spider-Man ample time to scramble behind an upturned car. He collapses onto his hands and knees, trying his hardest not to dry heave. God, he is so _dizzy_ \- the explosions erupting around him do little to help him regain his barings, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a few moments, forehead pressed firmly into the gravel. 

_One, two, three_ … and he’s up again, bouncing to his feet and chancing a glance around the car. He spots Mysterio dipping and diving around as giant, magma-drenched fists are launched at him. He dives down just as a rock comes hurtling straight toward him. It barely misses the car, catching and ripping off the door that had been open and sticking up in the air. Spider-Man rolls onto his back, dragging in a dusty breath before he’s forcibly dragged to his feet again. 

It’s Mysterio, except his vision is swimming, so he looks like a very _wobbly_ version of the hero. His helmet is off, his hair is mussed up, and his expression is twisted - for the first time since they’ve met, Beck looks genuinely caught off guard by the sight of him. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to apologize for getting knocked down so quickly, but Beck grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him close before he can even untangle his tongue. 

Peter raises his head, propping his chin up onto Beck’s shoulder to avoid being smothered against his chest plate. Even though his vision is blurry and the world is spinning very quickly, he can still see the fire monster raging across the city. He watches it devour a bike rack in under thirty seconds, and his heart rate spikes. “Uh, Mr. Beck? Are you sure this is the right time?”

The man pulls away and holds him at arm’s length, his expression carefully guarded. “Are you alright?” He asks, but Peter is already pulling further and further away, his gaze caught on the elemental that is moving in the direction of the opera house. Without answering the hero’s question, he dashes out from behind the car, launches a web at the nearest chunk of rock and begins to spin in a clockwise motion until he feels he’s gathered enough force behind it. Then he let’s go, and doesn’t bother to watch as it collides with the back of the monster. Spider-Man is already on his way to meet the lumbering creature when he spots Mysterio across the square (how did he get all the way over there so _quickly_?), shooting a beam of light at nothing in particular. He watches, head cocked in confusion, as the blast collides with thin air. 

What the fuck?

He doesn’t have much time to question what he’s seen, though, as the elemental is close by, flailing fists dripping strings of fire _everywhere_. He shoots a web at a lamppost, perching on top of it. Mysterio dips and dodges the monster, coming to hover beside him. His helmet is back on, and Peter pants as he watches the wispy surface of it swirl. 

“Is it almost dead?”

It’s a stupid question, he knows. But Beck turns, presumably to look at him, and nods, “Almost.” 

Spider-Man flexes his palms, opening and closing them a few times, and lets out a sound of affirmation. “Okay. Let’s finish this.” He swings away from the pole, circling it while still maintaining a distance. He shoots webs at its head, trying to keep its attention as split as possible so that Mysterio can land as many shots as possible. At one point, he tries to get it to step on a fire hydrant, but it doesn’t work; he would think its purposefully avoiding it if it didn’t look _so_ stupid. He resorts to getting on the ground again (bad idea, he knows) to open it himself. He grabs a rock and starts to slam it against the bright red metal, making some good progress, but just not enough. 

The elemental notices him, and decides he’s the easier target. Mysterio blasts it again, but it’s not deterred. It just keeps lumbering toward him, its steps shaking his bones. There’s no time to swing away, not anymore, and so he doubles down, his fingers aching from how many times he accidentally crushes them between rock and metal. Beck yells at him from afar, but he isn’t listening. The monster looms over him now, and he’s _so_ close… 

The metal bursts open at the very last second, water spraying out and hitting it square in the face. Steam rises off of its body in great big clouds, and Peter tries to escape without getting caught in a scalding hot rain shower. He’s quick, but his feet still get caught in the puddles that pool around the scene. As soon as he’s close to a building, he swings away from the writhing monster and watches from the rooftop as Mysterio blasts it away, its form crumbling away once and for all. 

Spider-Man whoops loudly, raising both arms in celebration. “We did it!” He shouts, a dopey smile finding its way onto his face. It’s obscured by his mask, but he still hopes Mysterio can _sense_ it as he makes his way down the building. Once on the ground, he takes a few steps before gingerly taking a seat on top of a warm chunk of rock; the bottom of his suit from the knees down are soaked in hot water. There’s little he can do about it without shedding his entire getup, so he just tries to ignore it and wait for it to cool down in the breeze. 

Beck touches down somewhere to his left, and he can hear the crunch of tires over gravel somewhere on his right; the approaching car stops a little under ten feet away, and Nick Fury steps out. He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look particularly _happy_ , either. His expression sort of reminds Peter of how Tony had looked on Titan, when… 

He shakes his head, willing the thought to go away. 

“Is it dead?” Is all Fury asks, his mouth turned down at the corners. Agent Hill is standing off to his side, her face tense. 

It’s only then that Peter realizes Mysterio is right next to him, leaning against the very same rock he’s perched upon. The man looks tired, but triumphant, and he’s happy that there’s _someone_ here who seems to be sharing his glee. There’s a pregnant silence in which the three of them hold their breath, all of them wondering, _hoping_.

Beck takes a look at them all, and then, with a face splitting grin, “Oh, yes. It’s _dead_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know my Spidey diverges from FFH Spidey quite a bit, especially in the way he handles Fury intruding on his class trip. I guess I just think he'd handle it a bit differently, is all. I'd love to hear what you guys think of it in the comments! Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I am! Thanks for sticking with it this long, there's more to come!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, me again! Another chapter is up! Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes, I try my best to avoid them but I'm only human! And I don't currently have a beta reader :p Thanks for understanding!

The rest of Peter Parker’s stay in Prague is as quiet as you’d expect it to be after such events. The morning after the elemental attacked, Peter woke up to find out that the entire class is freaked out, and Mr. Harrington was scheduling a flight for them to go back to New York as soon as possible. He found himself disappointed when he heard, leaning over the bannister to listen to his classmates chatter in the stairwell beneath him. They were upset, too, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had a hand in ruining their vacation.  _ Wherever you go, death and destruction follows _ … Peter had to physically shake his head to scatter the thought, having to remind himself that  _ nobody _ died.

( _ Not this time _ .)

It was around that time that Michelle Jones approached him, her hair tied back into a tight knot at the base of her head. He greeted her quietly, straightening his posture before inviting her to go out for a walk. She looked like she had something to say to him, and he figured he’d make the best of an arguably awful situation and tell her what  _ he _ needed to say, at the same time. She agreed, and they spent their last few hours in the city wandering through the busy streets of Prague, sunlight warming their skin. 

After about an hour, when he was sure she wasn’t going to say anything first, he pulled her to the side and bought them both fried cheese. “I have something to tell you,” he said, gathering all the courage he could find. 

“You’re Spider-Man,” she replied, popping a piece of crispy batter into her mouth. Peter was stunned into silence, and he nearly dropped his food. She continued, unfazed. “I’ve known for a while, you don’t hide it well -”

“I like you,” he blurted, all the muscles in his back bunched up into a single, unanimous ball of stress. “I was  _ going _ to say that I like you.”

MJ stopped walking, the outline of her tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek showing. “Oh.” Other than that, she said very little, and they retired to their respective rooms to prepare to leave not long after. 

Peter remembers the way her cheeks turned pink fondly, and tries to recall if his face had been that hot, too. They’re boarding the plane back to New York now, and if he turns his head far enough he can catch a glimpse of the top of her head in the sea of people climbing up the stairs behind them. He sighs, finds a seat next to Ned and shoves his backpack in the space between his legs and the seat in front of him. It isn’t long before MJ boards, her eyes searching the isles thoroughly, settling on him for just a moment. She turns away, finding a seat near the back, and Betty takes the seat on Ned’s left. 

It’s going to be a  _ very _ long flight, and MJ has been ignoring him ever since he told her about his feelings - that was yesterday, and a gnawing sort of worry still lingers in his guts, an uneasiness regarding how easily she picked up on his secret identity. He denied it, of course, covered it up expertly with another more shocking truth to distract her from how  _ horrible _ of a liar he is. 

But now she’s ignoring him, and he feels like a jerk. 

He told Ned everything, from MJ to the fire elemental to how May chewed him out for not  _ telling _ her what was going on, and he could really use some support right about now - but he’s talking to Betty, and Peter doesn’t want to disrupt that. He fiddles with his phone, scrolling through the contacts without truly reading the names. He stops, his finger hovering over one in particular. 

Beck had given him his number the night that they defeated the monster, after Fury grilled them for at least an hour to “debrief,” though it had felt much more like an  _ interrogation _ . Peter’s not so sure when the hero had time to get a phone, or where he got the money to purchase it, but he didn’t question it at the time. 

He said to call whenever he felt like it, that he owed Peter a drink - Peter explained, stupidly, that he was underage and the man had laughed heartily, suggesting that maybe they’d go get some dinner instead. Thinking back on the interaction made him cringe, and the skin crawling embarrassment multiplies tenfold when he remembers the hug they shared in the middle of the city square, fire burning all around them. He types out a text asking if he’d be willing to get some food, or whatever, when he lands in New York - he deletes it ten times before sighing, shutting off his phone and pocketing it. Mysterio was likely to stay in Europe from what he overheard between Fury and Agent Hill (not that he was  _ snooping _ , they did very little to conceal their words), but the hero knew he’d be going back to the US and still offered, so that must mean…?

Ned and Betty are sharing headphones, a movie beginning to play on the screen in front of them. Peter watches it silently for a while before focusing his attention elsewhere, his thoughts far too loud to let him relax. A flight attendant tells them that they’re about to take off soon. He pulls out his phone again, and gives Beck’s contact another hard stare. 

He sends the text. 

God, it’s going to be  _ such _ a long flight. 

  
  


* * *

May picks him up from the airport, and she’s angry, but not so much that she won’t hug him - and in her arms, Peter feels the safest he’s ever felt. 

She can tell something about him is off, holding him a fraction of a second longer than she’s usually prone to before snatching up his backpack and ushering him toward the car. There she lectures and drives at the same time, a skill she was forced to picked up after his uncle died - it makes him sad to think about, but May doesn’t let him mope. She stops off to pick up pizza, dragging him inside the store with her. Any other day and he might have complained about how  _ late _ it is, and how much he just wanted to go home - but it’s a nice distraction and he’s able to escape his own thoughts for a while. 

They drive straight home after, and the moment he’s in through the door, Peter rushes them both to the kitchen, beginning to unload the souvenirs he picked up for her, spreading them all out on the counter. He’s chattering loudly, pulling object after object out of his bag - May pulls up a stool and props her elbow up, head leaning lazily against her hand, listening intently as he explains why,  _ exactly _ , he bought her a $50 spool of lace from Italy. 

“I love it,” she tells him before he moves onto other things, her long fingers brushing against the patterned fabric delicately before they move to his hair, and she pushes his bangs back. When he pauses for breath again, she slips in a firm, “Peter. Are you alright?”

“Yes, May,” Peter assures, though it’s not entirely true. He pulls away from her outstretched arm, taking her open hand and putting a piece of candy in it instead. “Here, try this, it’s super sweet…”

His aunt doesn’t look convinced, but she pushes her plate of pizza further aside and eats the candy. “It’s just that -” She speaks around it, not deterred in the slightest. “Happy said Fury gave you a bit of a hard time, and the news made everything seem so  _ horrible _ . And Peter, no offense, but you look…”

He doesn’t raise his head from the knickknacks he’s currently unpacking, choosing to not mention what happened with MJ or meet her eyes, “Really, I’m fine! I wasn’t alone in Europe anyway, I had Fury, and…” He pauses his mind drifting slightly. Should he really be mentioning Mysterio? He thinks on it for a moment before deciding that the man wouldn’t mind being mentioned in passing, otherwise he would have said something. “I had that other guy with me, too. You know the one on the news…”

“Mysterio?” May asks, her head tilting. “When I asked, Happy said he’d never heard of the guy before. Was he nice?”

Peter snots. “Yeah, he was nice.”

“Is he, you know, an Avenger?”

May pretends not to notice the shiver that runs down his spine, but her hand finds his shoulder in silent support. “No. He’s not from this dimension, or something… That’s what he told us, anyway.” Peter purses his lips slightly, a salty taste in his mouth. He never did get the time to grill the hero with questions. 

“Well, wherever he’s from, I’m glad he ended up helping you with those things.” She squeezes his shoulder, opens another candy, and hands it to him insistently. “But you’ve  _ really _ gotta start keeping me in the loop, mister. Just because you’ve got all these cool new superhero friends doesn’t mean that you can just stop  _ talking _ to me…!” She goes on to say a lot of things, but it all boils down to the same thing it always does.  _ I love you, I missed you, please stop worrying me _ .

A pang of guilt pinches in his stomach, and he takes her hand. “I know, Aunt May, I’m really sorry…” 

They stay in the kitchen for about an hour, eating and going through each of his gifts so that he can take the time to explain the reasoning behind getting them. After that, though, May sends him to bed. A quick glance at the clock let’s him know that it’s already 11:32 PM, and the exhaustion of travelling begins to set in. He helps to clear the counter and hugs his aunt goodnight before retiring to bed, forgoing a shower in favor of flopping face-first into his sheets. 

  
  


* * *

He dreams about the time his class went to Creek Spring Park in the ninth grade, except time Peter is the only one to go swimming. He swims and swims and eventually his arms grow tired, and his body goes vertical, and it’s only a matter of time before his head slips beneath the surface of the water. 

_ You have to let go, Pete _ .

He does let go, despite the fact that he hadn’t been holding onto anything and before Tony Stark can say his next words, which his subconscious registers as a massive mistake, and suddenly he’s falling through the stratosphere, watching as a chunk of Titan comes hurtling down after him. He hits the ground, all the air knocked out of his lungs, and he can taste the red sand long before he sees it. The grains get caught beneath his tongue and no matter how much he spits he can’t get them out, and he looks up to ask for help but he’s not where he thought he was. He’s nowhere and everywhere all at once, scenes blurring until Peter doubles over, his forehead resting against his knees as he grips his churning stomach. 

The world lurches forward, and a hand grips his hair, pulling his head up. He opens his eyes and it’s Star Lord, and they’re both standing, and suddenly his blaster is pressed to his temple and he’s a hostage again. Except this time, it’s Mysterio standing where Tony had stood and he’s smiling and Quill is gone and Peter takes several steps back, glancing down at the floor as it shifts and they’re back in Prague. 

Beck opens his mouth, arms out to catch Peter as he comes falling from the sky, but instead of words a sharp trill cuts through the muffled atmosphere. 

  
  


* * *

Peter wakes up with the sensation of falling still rocking his bones. 

His body is slick with sweat and his sheets stick to his skin as he rolls off of the bed, crawling to his bag because he doesn’t trust himself to stand without puking all over the nice carpet Aunt May’s had installed last winter. Oh, it really doesn’t help to remember that  _ last winter _ he was dead, just ash rolling around on Titan. Sickness rises to his throat but he swallows it down, finding his phone just as the call goes to voicemail. The light is blinding to his sensitive, sleep soaked eyes and he has to squeeze them shut for several more moments, and his phone begins to ring again. 

He answers it blindly, still on the floor but now sitting up with his back pressed against the bedroom wall. “Hello?” He feels around to his left, the sturdy leg of his bedside table colliding with his palm - to the right is the doorstop, and he knows where he is now, the layout of his bedroom coming to life behind his eyelids. The dizziness begins to fade, but the images don’t - Mrs. Potts clinging to the dead body of her husband, the Falcon’s mechanical green eyes, a single golden gauntlet clad hand.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Peter’s eyes snap open, the voice cutting through the memories playing on loop in his brain. “Mr. Beck?” He stands up and his clock reads, in bright red numbers, 2:54 AM. “Mr. Beck, why are you calling so late?”

The silence doesn’t last longer than a second, and the man replies easily, as if he knew the question was coming and he had practiced his lines. “I’m in New York, and I owe you a drink, don’t I?”

“A dinner,” Peter corrects quietly, still trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he moves back to his bed. He sits down slowly. “You wanted to go right  _ now _ ?”

Beck hums on the other end, a slight buzz to his normally cool tone. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

He really doesn’t, and as he swipes beads of sweat from his forehead he realizes he probably won’t be able to go back to bed after a dream like that, anyway. He asks Beck for the address of the place they’d be going to and interrupts before the man can finish rattling it off. “Did Fury give you my address?”

“No. Why?”

The pub in question is only three blocks from the apartment. Peter doesn’t tell him that, simply shaking his head, chalking it up to a funky coincidence. They seemed to be plaguing him lately, so he tries not to think about it after he’s hung up and begins to change out of his sleepwear, opting for a new pair of sweats, a hoodie, and a thick coat… It hasn’t begun to snow yet, but it’s cold enough inside to make Peter button up all the way to his chin. He runs a hand through his hair and isn’t surprised to find that it’s still damp with sweat, he doesn’t care much and knows that Beck would care even less, if at all. Once he’s got his sneakers on, listens at his bedroom door for a few moments just to be sure May isn’t up. He takes glances at his closet, where he knows the suit Tony gave him is residing. Shaking his head, he opens the window and jumps out without another moment of hesitation. 

The walk there is short, and Peter stands outside for a few moments, bouncing his leg from the cold. It takes him well over a minute to realize that his phone is vibrating in his pocket, and when he opens it a text from Beck reads:  _ come inside before you lose a limb _ . The man is seated in a corner at the back, barely recognizable in his street clothes, the dim lighting doing little to illuminate him. Peter sheds his outer coat and slides into the booth, rubbing his hands together to try to get the chill to leave his bones. “Hey,” he says lamely, offering up a small smile. 

“Nice to see you again, kiddo. I was worried it’d be too late for you to come out,” Beck says, waving over a waitress who seemed to already be watching them. It makes sense; they were the only people who seemed to be dining in, the few other people here were seated at the bar, drinks gripped in hand. When she asks what they’d be drinking, he answers with, “A beer and…?”

It takes Peter a moment to realize both adults are waiting for him to answer. “A lemonade,” is all he says, panicking. Beck laughs heartily, a welcomed sound to his tired ears. The waitress leaves them with a menu, and Peter asks after a few moments, “How’d you get here so quick?”

“I was here when I called,” the man replies smoothly, already folding his menu and setting it to the side. 

“I meant -” The waitress is back with their drinks, and he has to hurriedly fret with the menu so as to not keep her waiting to take their orders. By the time she leaves again, Beck is already moving onto the next topic, asking him about his flight and how it feels to be home again. Peter leans into this line of questioning, happy to be able to talk about such domestic things - he even goes so far as to tell him about what happened with MJ. 

“Ouch,” Beck says, sipping his beer sympathetically. “So, technically, she figured it out?”

Peter nods, head hanging low as he studies a very interesting speck on his sweats, heat flushing his cheeks. “Yeah. Do you think it’s that obvious?”

“Nah, but I don’t go to school with you, so…” It feels good to talk about  _ normal _ things with him, and Peter begins to realize just how lonely he’s been these past few months. Sure, he’s been able to talk to May about Spider-Man stuff ever since she found his suit, and Ned has always been there for him, but he tries not to confide in them too much, afraid to place any of the responsibility that he was meant to bare on their shoulders. He doesn’t have to worry about that with Beck, because he knows how it feels to be  _ super _ , and Peter somehow feels like that makes all the difference in the world. 

Their food comes. They eat and the conversation drifts to Prague, and Peter subsequently thinks back to when they fought the elemental, and how the man had rushed over to check on him. He finds that his mouth twists uncomfortably to the side when he tries to find the words to bring it up, the syllables sitting awkward and thick on his tongue. Instead, he asks, “How long are you in New York for?”

“I don’t know yet.” Peter visibly perks up at that, already thinking of ways he can make it up to him for being there. He’s under the impression that the man hasn’t had much time to familiarize himself with  _ this _ dimension's New York, so he asks if he can show him around, maybe go sightseeing - and then, almost like he’d read his mind, Beck clears his throat, setting aside his beer. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts and wants ( _ and needs _ , a soft voice interjects, but he brushes it away) that he neglected to notice the sudden shift in his expression. Maybe it hadn’t been sudden at all, maybe he just missed the slow progression entirely. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter shifts in his seat, uncomfortable at the atmospheric shift. 

Beck takes a moment, and then answers very carefully. “It’s nothing. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high.”

He wrinkles his nose at that, choosing to duck his head to avoid the man’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re looking for something, Pete, and I don’t know if I’ve got it.” 

Peter doesn’t look up from his lemonade, instead choosing to stir the liquid with his straw so that he can watch his reflection ripple. He doesn’t ask what the man means, drawing his own conclusions. “That’s okay, Mr. Beck,” he means it when he says it, and he knows that he does because his chest grows tight and he can feel the beginnings of tears start to prickle his eyes.

He feels fifteen and stupid, perched on top of a playground climber as he stares into the inside of an empty suit.  _ Why are you upset _ ?  _ You knew it was empty from the very beginning _ .

“Hey,” Beck sounds tired, though his voice is still steady in that careful sort of way. “I never said we wouldn’t go.”

“Yeah,” his voice is surprisingly sharp despite not really saying  _ anything _ , even to his own ears. He blinks away the tears, focusing on his reflection so that he doesn’t have to look up and meet Beck’s eyes because he  _ knows _ what he’s going to see when he does. 

The two of them go quiet, and if Peter cared to listen any closer he’d be able to hear the ACDC song coming from behind the bar. It’s a really good thing he doesn’t care, otherwise he’d be crying. Which he definitely isn’t, not right now, no matter what the waitress or any of the pub’s patrons might say - it doesn’t matter that much anyway, because they leave not too long after, right before his digital watch reads 4:30 AM. Peter knows it’s because he soured the mood. Beck insists on walking him home, giving some lame excuse as to why he feels the need that Peter is too tired to try and pick apart. He politely declines, face pink and numb with cold, not wanting to stew in his own embarrassment for much longer. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Beck’s smile turns down at the corners, a sad look playing across all of his features. He puts a hand onto Peter’s shoulder, and the kid doesn’t bother to shrug it away, not while the sun is slowly rising and he can see the white plumes of breath filling the air between them. 

They stay like that for a long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH I'm a bit nervous about this chapter and the character interactions, and I'm open to any and all feedback! This is my first spidey fic, so all criticism is appreciated. I do have a question for my audience though! Do you prefer plot/action-heavier chapters, or more character driven ones? 
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed this very self indulgent project of mine, and once again, I thank you all for sticking with me this far :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I SAID THURSDAY LMAO BUT HERE I AM TWO WEEKS LATER.... this chapter is a bit short, so I apologize again.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for the continued to support! If you're enjoying this work, consider leaving some feedback! I really appreciate it. Without further ado... Chapter five!

A week goes by, and nothing of particular importance happens - Peter goes back to school with the rest of his class and tries to scrape together some form of normalcy after everything that happened in Europe. 

Some things are easy, like things with Ned - despite their close relationship, he and Betty broke up the moment that they landed in New York. (They maintain that they’re still friends, however, and she sometimes sits with them during their lunch hour and chats them up.) Their friendship goes back to normal almost immediately, and Peter is grateful for that. He’d been worried that his superhero duties got in the way, but Ned continues to prove time and time again that he doesn’t mind. Other things aren’t as easily salvaged - MJ avoided him the first day back, and Peter can’t say he blames her. Their last interaction had been horribly awkward, and he hates how clumsily he handled her suspicions of his secret identity. 

He had been planning to approach her when  _ she _ set her tray of food down at their table and struck up a conversation. “You’re acting weird,” she said. 

“Me?” 

“Are you really not Spider-Man?” She went on to ask, eyes narrowing in that burning sort of fashion. “Because I’m pretty sure you are. Like, ninety percent.”

Peter shook his head and set down his plastic spork. Ned was twitching nervously beside him all the while, his eyes downcast. “I’m not Spider-Man.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” he assured, and he tried to meet her gaze earnestly. Lying had never been his strong suit, so he decided to cover his bluff with truth. “But I meant what I said in Prague.”

She stilled even more, if that was at all possible. “I don’t remember what you said.” The way she said it - now  _ that _ was a convincing lie, and if Peter didn’t know her as well as he did, he’d have believed it. 

But she was set on hearing him say it again, for whatever reason. So with a deep breath, Peter mustered all the courage he could find in himself and tried his very best to ignore the fact that Ned was sat right next to him, listening in despite pretending to read a comic. “I really do like you, MJ.”

Things went back to normal after that conversation, MJ picked at her fries in silence for a few moments before moving on to more interesting things, like the weather and the current book she’s been reading - all topics that have Peter captivated, and he hung onto her every word. Though no progress has been made with their relationship, Peter barely cares. He doesn’t want to date her if it means he can’t be  _ friends _ with her, and so he doesn’t bring his feelings up again. 

He also hasn’t seen Beck, not since they went for dinner, nor has he heard from him - Peter isn’t hurt by the radio silence, though. Tony Stark would sometimes go weeks without contacting him, he can go a few days without worrying about his standing with the hero. Other than that, the past couple of days have been blissful. In fact, things have been  _ so _ peaceful that it’s almost boring after everything that’s happened, so much so that Peter is  _ almost _ relieved when his phone goes off. 

It was Nick Fury calling him to action, and he was practically vibrating as he packed his suit into his backpack and waited for Happy to come and pick him up. Normally, Peter would just have swung to the destination - but they’re going to Stark Tower, and that wouldn’t look particularly good for the company. In his nervousness, he rushed in and out of the house multiple times trying to decide whether or not to bring along EDITH, the glasses having been hidden away from the world ever since Prague in a shoebox beneath his bed. Eventually, May noticed his fretting and kicked him out (something about wearing out the threshold), glasses still in hand. That would have solved things for a  _ normal _ person, but Peter Parker is not normal, apparently, and he spends the next half hour trying to decide whether or not to  _ wear _ the damned things. 

Happy pulled up in front of the apartment and Peter decided it would be too much hassle (and maybe even  _ rude _ ) to leave them in his bag, and he simply climbed into the back of the car with them on. 

The ride there is quiet, with Happy simply offering a few words of encouragement after their initial greetings. Peter, uncharacteristically, isn’t in the mood to talk; he’s too busy thinking of the tower, and how it’s going to be his first time stepping foot in the building without Tony Stark on premises. Maybe Happy knows this, and it’s why he breaks the silence once they’ve arrived. 

He opens the door and Peter clambers out. “Watch your step,” he says, like he always does. A moment passes, and then: “Are you okay?”

Peter shrugs, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I’m fine.”

Happy narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else concerning the subject, instead opting to give him directions to go up. Peter knows all of this already, though, and can only assume it’s being said to him out of habit. Maybe Happy is just as uncomfortable with this situation as he is. 

There’s very little opportunity for him to gauge that, though, because soon the limo is turning out of the driveway and Peter is walking through the large glass doors that are the entrance to Stark Tower. He gets through (the minimal, he notices) security without much hassle, and heads up the elevator to the floor he was instructed to go to. He feels like he should have said something to reassure Happy, but he doesn’t know  _ what _ \- Peter has been finding that, more often than not, he’s at a loss for words of comfort. He’s mid-thought when the doors slide open and he’s striding out of the elevator, straight into a hug that’s far too tight, too reminiscent of cool metal limbs. 

“Peter,” Pepper Potts greets, the side of her face resting against the crown of his head. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Good to see you too, Miss Potts.” Peter swallows thickly, a cold sensation taking over his body. He knew he was going to have to see her, but it still takes the wind out of him to  _ see _ her. He hasn’t visited since the funeral, and guilt begins to curl in his gut as his mind scrambles to find excuses - he just couldn’t find the time ( _ or the courage _ , a stupid voice offers up, and Peter pulls away from the hug). Ms. Potts looks down at him, her hands lingering on his shoulders for too long as she burns holes into his skin with her eyes. 

“How’ve you been holding up, Peter?” Ms. Potts asks, apparently having found whatever she was looking for in his visage. Her heels click against the stark white floor as she turns and begins walking away from the elevator, the sound loud and ringing in Peter’s ears. 

“Good,” he supplies lamely, eyes fixed firmly on the door at the end of the long corridor. “Went to Europe on a school trip, that was  _ fun… _ ”

Ms. Potts tucks a loose strand of hair back into its place behind her ear. “I saw. You were very brave. We’re all very proud of you, you know.”

Peter inhales sharply. He wasn’t expecting  _ praise _ \- not now, and definitely not from her. He wants to say  _ thank you _ , or something, but the words get caught, and when he tries to clear his throat they tear tiny holes in his esophagus. Peter tries not to let her notice. “Thanks, I - I had a lot of help.”

“Mm,” she hums. “Fury told me he gave you EDITH. I didn’t believe him at first, but…”

“Oh,” Peter blinks, raising a hand idly to touch the frame of the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. They’re so lightweight that he forgot that he was wearing them. “Yeah, back in Venice.”

“I’m glad. Tony never specifically said what he wanted to do with them when…” Ms. Potts trails off, her eyes cloudy. “Anyway, I figured you’d put them to good use. I would’ve given them to you myself, but…”

She trails off, and Peter can only walk and wonder what she was going to say. Part of him  _ wishes _ it had been her to give them to him, if only to avoid the deflating sensation in his chest as the realization dawns on him that Tony Stark did not, in fact, leave these magnificent glasses to  _ him _ . She would have made it clear then, as she is now, that it was her decision - and Peter can live with that. But he could also have gone without Fury building it up as some sort of farewell present from his late mentor, and if Ms. Potts notices the frequent sniffles he’s suddenly developed in the past minute, she graciously doesn’t comment. 

She does, however, prompt a question. “Do you like them?” It’s soft, but it carries the weight of what she’s trying to convey. 

“She’s really great - I haven’t played around with  _ all _ of her features yet, but she’s just…” He trails off, trying to swallow the thickness rising in his chest. “She’s awesome, really.”

“I’m glad  _ someone _ is having fun with them. It’d have been a shame to let them go to waste,” Ms. Potts laughs, and she sounds like a different woman than the one he’s come to know in his nightmares. “They look  _ great _ on you, Peter.” She’s looking at him, eyes searching for contact, but all he can do is twist his features into what he hopes is a smile. 

They’re standing right outside the doors now, and he takes a breath in before  _ finally _ raising his gaze to meet hers. “Thank you, Ms. Potts.” 

She smiles at him, and then the doors to the conference room slide open. 

  
  


* * *

The first person Peter notices is Beck, who’s positioned himself at the corner of the table, arms crossed as he glowers down at something. 

Fury is on the other side of the table, standing over the table with his face pulled back in a half-sneer that falls the moment he sees them entering. “Parker,” he greets, nodding once to Ms. Potts. “Nice of you to join us. Take a seat.”

It’s all too a little reminiscent of Venice for Peter’s liking, but he sits anyway. The chair he chose just so happens to be next to Beck, and the hero closes the manila folder before he can catch a glance at the documents inside. He offers a slight smile at his arrival, but says nothing. Pepper Potts takes her seat at the head of the table, and Fury remains standing, as per usual. 

The man does little to mince his words. “As Beck already knows, the  _ elementals _ are back.” 

He goes on to explain that a new element has risen from the scattered remains of the element based monsters, finding each other to create a terrifying amalgamation of water, wind, fire and air - the news actually surprises Peter. The fire elemental Peter could believe, because they  _ did _ kill it rather quickly. But the others were defeated, or so they were  _ told _ \- he glances at Beck and quickly looks away when the man catches him. 

Fury goes on, and a little machine, not unlike the one used in Prague, spits out a hologram that he stretches and twists so that Peter can get a good look without actually getting up from the table. He explains that it’s only an artistic rendition of what it’s supposed to look like, that the only concrete proof of its existence are the energy signatures it’s been leaving in its wake. 

“Where did you get that?” Ms. Potts asks. 

Fury nods to Beck, who’s got a dark look on his face now. “Mr. Beck over here provided us with this image.”

Something flashes across her face. “Beck?” She blinks once, then twice, squinting in his direction. “As in, Quentin Beck?”

“You two know each other?” Fury asks, voice sickly sweet. He looks like he’s enjoying the situation far too much for Peter’s liking. 

Beck clears his throat, straightening up in his seat. “Yes, ma’am. That’s my name.”

Ms. Potts smiles, but there’s vivid confusion playing out on her features. “Oh, I thought I recognized you!”

Peter bounces his leg impatiently, echoing Fury’s earlier sentiments. “Wait, you know who he is?”

“Yes, yes, he used to work in one of Tony’s tech departments. What was it called… BARF, I think -” Beck’s face twists into a scowl, and Peter sinks back into his seat. He’s never seen  _ that _ expression on the man before. “- everyone misses you, Quentin.”

Beck opens his mouth to speak, but his tone does not match his expression. “Mrs. Stark -”

“Potts,” she corrects smoothly. 

“Ms. Potts,” he says sympathetically, as if he’s had to explain this before. “I’m not  _ your _ Quentin Beck. I’m from another universe. When your husband defeated Thanos, he also tore a hole in the fabric of reality and I was able to escape my dying world.” 

Peter pretends not to have flinched at the name, rubbing a palm against his cheek to distract himself. “So you’re a doppelgänger,” he says, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

A snort. “I guess you could say that.” When he opens his eyes again, Beck is smiling pleasantly. Peter leaves the glasses on the table top, his hands fidgeting with the frame. Fury and Ms. Potts share a look, before the man continues to explain their current situation. The elemental is slowly moving around the globe, but they’ve predicted where it’ll be striking next: London, presumably to collect the remains of the fire elemental. 

“So it’s not fully formed yet?” Peter asks. 

“Not yet,” Beck replies, turning to him with soft eyes. “But it will be.”

“It’s our job to make sure that  _ doesn’t _ happen.” Fury explains that they’re headed to Europe one last time, ignoring the loud groan Peter lets loose. The plan is to catch the amalgamation in the act of absorbing the last elemental, and destroy both of them before it becomes too strong. “Our goal is to get in and get out without destroying the city.” 

Beck elbows him slightly, a smile cutting his face in two. Peter can’t help but return it, snickering slightly. Fury gives Peter a pointed look, but he does his best to look like he doesn’t know what it’s for. 

  
  


* * *

The adults talk for a while more, but Peter checks out almost entirely. They’re going in circles now, the way people who’ve lost before do, going over every detail and making sure things are as foolproof as possible. He can only listen to the same gameplan so many times before he starts to drift off. 

( _ And that’s why you failed _ , a voice murmurs in his chest. Peter shakes it away.)

Eventually, Ms. Potts excuses herself and Fury follows her out into the hallway, his long black coat billowing despite the fact that there’s no draft in the conference room. They leave Beck and Peter alone, and they maintain the silence for a few moments after the doors shut. He can still see them through the glass - Ms. Potts is talking very fast, and despite not being able to hear her tone, he can infer by her hand motions that it’s nothing pleasant. 

“How are you holding up?” Beck stands up, stretching his arms above his head. Peter can hear the popping of his joints, unconsciously beginning to crack his knuckles as well. 

“What?” The question catches him off guard. 

Beck shrugs, pacing around the table once, stopping behind Peter’s chair. “You look tired,” he replies simply, resting his hands against the top of the chair he’s sat in. 

“I am tired,” Peter answers truthfully. They’ve been here for  _ at least _ two hours, going on three. He doesn’t mention the fact that being in this building is draining, or that he can feel his skin crawl every time he glances over at Pepper Potts and catches a glimpse of her wedding ring shining beneath the bright fluorescent lights. “We’ve just been here for a while, that’s all.”

“Fury sure does love his briefings.” Tapping his fingers against the sturdy leather of the headrest, Beck hums. “How are things with that girl?”

Peter chews his lip, thinking back to MJ. “Fine. We’re friends again.” 

A comfortable silence falls over them, and Peter focuses on the soft  _ tap, tap, tap _ of Beck’s fingers on either side of his head, eyes focused on the blurry silhouette of Pepper Potts out in the hallway. 

“I know it must be hard for you,” Beck says after a long pause, raising a hand to gesture around the room. “Fury told me what happened.”

Peter swallows thickly. “It’s not that bad,” he lies, focusing on the folder resting on the tabletop. He takes a deep breath, pausing before saying, “I wish you could’ve met him. Maybe he could’ve helped you with your powers, like he did with me.”

Beck makes a sound like a scoff, a sharp contrast to his previous tenderness. “Did he, though?”

“What?”

“From what I’ve heard,” the hero starts, voice very crisp with an emotion Peter can’t place. “You had things figured out long before Stark came in and muddied everything up.”

Peter slumps back into his seat, thinking on his words for a moment. He  _ did _ have things figured out, though, it was on a much smaller scale than the Avengers. But Tony Stark opened his world up to more opportunities, gave him a new suit, and bolstered his image - all the things he wouldn’t have been able to do by himself. “He still helped.”

“Maybe.” There’s a thick pause, and Peter looks up at the bottom of Beck’s face. There’s a sad smile playing across his features. “I guess we’ll never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this chapter was kinda transitional, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! I am feeling a bit iffy on Pepper's characterization, though it's mostly because I've never written her before and only have a soft idea of how I want to present her, if that makes sense? Ahhhhh, anyway... this chapter was kind of plot heavy, so I hope you don't mind that - we'll be getting into the thick of things very soon, don't worry!
> 
> Sorry that it took me a while to get this chapter up, I've been working through a bit of irl stuff. But I should be back to a normal posting schedule, and from now on I'll be trying to post a new chapter every Thursday! (So, a new chapter should be up by next Thursday or sooner, depending on how quickly I can churn a chapter out!)
> 
> I have a question! Would you all like to see a chapter from Quentin’s POV, or stick strictly to Peter? Thanks <3
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment/kudos or even bookmark this work! It really helps to keep me motivated and I'm always looking forward to reading what you have to say, constructive or otherwise!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Spidey fic, so any and all feedback is appreciated and encouraged! Hopefully you all have enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Updates coming soon.


End file.
